chalk for bones

just some "poetry" collection

Stay Curious

-- live laugh love lmao


you and i are ridiculous

to find the joy in the simplest things of life does not constitute folly on its own, though

but rather it is defined by the sharing of such humor

i could easily find folly in life and keep it deep within myself

but like the joys of finding spare change in my pockets, they're meaningless until i pull them out and display them upon my palm for all to see

and nothing about them has really changed, they're still worthless, but to me and those who witness they've earned an amused laugh

and, maybe if we're lucky, a visit to the convenience store

so we are ridiculous, you and i

foolish and silly

but nothing binds the world more tightly than this whimsy

i know this to be true, because to this day i still find dimes and pennies in my jackets


today i looked up from the monotony of evening's cradle and worried that i had forgotten to water my plants outside. if i even water them a few hours late, i'll find they've wilted sadly, hunching over, toiled in the morning sun.

it didn't take me long to remember that i had, in fact, watered my plants. though, it wasn't because i had the memory of drawing water to soil. the image that instead flashed to my mind was one of a man walking into the unit beside mine. i remembered greeting him, saying “good morning.”

the philosophy that we are our memories presented itself in my late-day jolt of botanic panic. but, beyond that, we are the trails our memories make. stumbling to take out my phone and check the time just to be sure it truly was appropriate to wish a good “morning” has nothing to do with my daily plant care regime, but i had only struggled to do so because i had been carrying my watering can and trying to open the front door at the same time.

i tend to grow anxious wondering what others think of me. unable to clear my own perception of myself, i would stay up late at night with this wonder, hoping that someone (anyone) could just tell me what they thought of me. to tell me what i am to them, to tell me who i am at all.

but it's so simple, isn't it? i am the memories of me. but as described before, i am not just the memories themselves, but the twists and turns and trails and trials. to my lover, for example, i am not just the memory of catching the lizard that ran behind her grandmother's dresser with a pair of giant crochet needles.

i am the memory of the needles themselves - i am when my beloved can now look at those needles and laugh as she recalls seeing me pressed between the wall and a hard place, trying to squeeze through just another inch, because even those monstrous rods of wood were still not long enough to grab that fickle reptile.

life's tiniest pleasures

last summer held the final few months

in which the koi fish lived in the arboretum

dozens of colorful fish across two ponds

worked hard as visitor attractions

and were rewarded heartily

with handfuls of smelly pellets daily

delivered by gardeners such as myself

on the days it was my turn to feed the fish

i would fill the scoop to the top

and then some

i would grab the pellets

in my small hand

and i would toss them out

one fistful at a time

the other gardeners would tease me

for spending my entire morning

unhurriedly feeding fish

for thirteen an hour

i laughed with them

but i don't think they quite understood

just how much i loved these koi

sometimes children would watch

i told them to come up to the rocks

and help me feed the fish

their fists were smaller than even mine

and so we would spend several minutes

throwing smelly pellets into a koi pond

giving them names and personalities

at the cusp of summer's end

i was informed that the koi would be

donated by the first snow

caring became too much of a chore

i sat empty-handed by the edge of the pond

and the koi approached me readily

awaiting the daily fistfuls of pellets


the first japanese word you taught me was “bright”

“it's the moon and the sun,

it's me holding you

and keeping you safe”

i thought very hard on that, you know. to the point where i could've sworn that i had understood it.

heavens, i didn't.

but, for years after, i felt your love embrace me in ways i hadn't even realized i could be held. in your presence, i felt safe, as if all of you was the one and only home for all of me.

it was from that moment of realization onwards that i found myself understanding that kanji. again. and again. and again.

on: brother

thinking about the time i beat up a kid who was bullying my brother

it was the only time i ever fought someone


years later i'd get ripped to shreds in high school but i never did anything to those kids. i definitely could've and maybe i should've

but in 5th grade there was this boy who would come to our yard just to kick my brother out of our own trampoline and say mean shit to him

so one of those days, when he came to kick my brother out, i followed him into the trampoline and beat the shit out of him

my brother used to be such a wimpy ass pushover. pretty much everyone ever took a bite at him. at some point i did too. i regret it every day and try to make up for it when i can. which is hard since now i'm in florida and the most i can do is just call him

he was showing me his apartment “dinner setup” today lol

included a “fireplace ambiance” video playing on his tv

such a fucking dork

eat slow

i had a therapist during my time in uni, as one does, and one time she gave me a chocolate bar she bought from a post-halloween sale. after thanking her, i immediately tore the wrapper open and shoved the entire piece in my mouth, swallowing it within a few seconds. apparently, that's not a pace at which normal people eat candy, and she asked why i didn't even bother to savor it.

when i was younger, my dad used to tell me to eat fast. any time he caught me ngâm miệng, he'd say the same thing: chew, chew, swallow.

i've probably heard that a million times. its meaning is right on the tin - put the food in your mouth, chew it the minimum amount of times, and then swallow it. i took it to heart and applied it to everything i did, rushing through without second thought. if i lagged for too long, i would certainly be left behind or looked down upon (i wasn't sure what was worse).

since we moved, my father and i have been trying to understand each other, which is about as easy as trying to talk to someone who speaks a completely different language from yourself. but, like anything else, it grows easier with time and heart - and, like learning a new language, you eventually pick up the common phrases, like "i like to sleep" and "where is the bathroom?"

today he offered me some of his fish for dinner, since he had grabbed too much from the pot. he told me to take as much as i'd like from his plate. before i even grabbed his plate, he looked at me and said "...and eat slowly."